


firsts

by gschmitt



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Compliant, Forbidden Love, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Heavy Angst, Kinda, M/M, slight Episode Ignis spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-14 12:46:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13008081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gschmitt/pseuds/gschmitt
Summary: He remembers the first time he met him, the first time he held him...the first time he kissed him.Ignis remembers a lot of their firsts, but he never thought there would be a first time where he had to say goodbye.





	firsts

_one_

_the first time green eyes gazed into blue_

 

He was not dressed like a Prince, that was certainly evident.

Although he was donned in the Royal colours, he _almost_ looked like an Insomnian citizen. His father, on the other hand, was quite the opposite; he exuded regality, and he looked exactly like Ignis had pictured him (minus the angry glare and extremely arched eyebrows).

Outstretching his hand towards the Prince, he met his eyes for the first time. Bright, and blue. They were much more childlike compared to his own green eyes, which were slightly hardened from all the strenuous training and skill-building he had gone through growing up.

The Prince looked hesitant at first, but he smiles and takes Ignis’ hand in both his smaller palms.

“I’m Noctis,” he said. _I know_. “What’s your name?”

“Ignis Scientia. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Prince Noctis.”

 

_two_

_the first time he showed him how to be a child_

  
“Prince Noctis, you must be careful.”

Even though he was facing Noctis’ back, he _knew_ he was rolling his eyes at him. He understands. He is ten, and will only grow more rebellious as he ages. Being _the_ Prince of Lucis definitely adds more fuel to the fire.

Noctis stops, and turns slightly, balancing on the railing beneath the soles of his feet. “I’ll try...” he says, walking towards the direction of Ignis, ignoring his worried look. _“...Mom.”_

 _Ah,_ His Highness’ sarcasm is finally making an appearance for today. Ignis had thought that today must have been an awfully lucky day, blessed by the Six themselves, if the Prince wasn’t speaking back as usual. He did enjoy the sarcasm, though, for whatever reason, and he supposes it could be worse; he had heard stories of the lives of other royal advisors, and they were not something he liked to think about. He thought that maybe they were just stories, told to people like himself to scare them into always being prim and proper, but that was something he would never truly know.

“If you scrape your knees again, I’ll have to use that ointment that you loathe.”

That seemed to work. Noctis stood still on the railing, looking towards Ignis with curious eyes. He was weighing the options over, it seemed. And with a shrug of his shoulders, it seemed that the short-lived fun outweighed the inevitable tear stained cheeks and bloody knees.

Walking closer to Ignis with cautious steps, Noctis began to hum a tune that Ignis recognised instantly. It was one of his favourite piano pieces, and he played it on the grand piano in the Citadel’s music room various times throughout his stay there. Was the Prince sneaking around, watching him in secret?

“Y’know, you’re a lot older than you look,” Noctis says.

“How so?”

“You just...you’re meant to be a kid. I thought I could have fun with you, or somethin’.”

 _You could_ —can— _but other, less dangerous kinds of fun_. “Well, I _am_ your advisor. My job is to take care of you, and look over you. I was told nothing of your ideas of _fun_.”

“Oh. I didn’t know there was a _how-to-be-an-advisor_ booklet,” he retorts.

“There is not.” Ignis walks over to the railing and leans against it, looking up to Noctis with narrowed eyes. “It’s just...an unspoken rule, followed by all.”

He jumps off the railing, much more reckless than Ignis appreciates, and points to his knees. “See!” He says with a grin. “I didn’t fall this time.”

 _Yes_ , but he had fallen more than ten times before that, and that left some fairly noticeable scars. The blood was not fun to clean up, and Ignis could not for the life of him understand why the Prince kept balancing on the railings. He knew he would keep falling, hurting himself, and the tears had shown that he did not enjoy being hurt. So why?

Ignis clears his throat, and cocks his head to the side in confusion. “That was the first time you have not hurt yourself. Why do you continue to do this?”

Noctis shrugs his shoulders again, and leans against the railing beside Ignis. “I dunno.” He leans his head back and looks up towards the sky, glancing at the various shapes of the clouds above and humming in contentment. “Hey, look!” Noctis says, pointing towards a particularly odd-shaped cloud, one that looked almost like a—“It looks like a fat chocobo.”

“Yes, indeed. It, _uh…_ ” He clears his throat. He isn’t good at this, this...spontaneous rambling of sorts. It seemed so informal, not something you would engage in with a Prince. “It looks like a rotund chocobo has just finished eating its fifth meal of the day.”

Noctis laughs at that, eyes shut and mouth wide. His laugh suits him, it is joyous and pure and spontaneous. He turns to the advisor, and glances at him, smile still evident. They give each other a slight nod.

 _Friends?_ Friends.

 

_three_

_the first time he actually talks to him_

 

Walking into his apartment, he noticed the blazer thrown nonchalantly on the floor and Noctis’ bag draped on the arm of the couch. He sighed, and walked over to where he was lounging and sat across him.

The Prince still had his eyes shut and arms behind his head, head facing the ceiling. Ignis could see he was in deep thought from the slight furrowing of his brow and clenching jaw. “Everything alright?” He asks, leaning back against the couch and getting comfortable.

He was expecting a groan, but he did not receive one. Noctis lifts himself up and replicates his position, albeit a lot more comfortably. “I guess,” he says, resting an arm loosely on his thigh and chewing at his bottom lip. “School is just... _I dunno_ , worse, somehow.”

“Are you still friends with Prompto?”

He nods, eyes downcast. “He’s my best friend, it’s just that…” he trails off, hand lifting up to rest behind his neck. “Nobody else is my friend, at least not in the way he is. And Prompto is enough, he’s more than I could ever ask for. I just don’t understand why he’s the _only_ one to treat me so normally.”

“I see.” He brings up his index finger and pushes his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. He expected this, of course. Even though his father had enrolled him in a public school, nothing could change the fact that Noctis was the Prince of Lucis. Everyone would have seen him at least once in the papers, on the television, or online. Everyone knew what he looked like, and where he resided, and his birth date. Privacy and normalcy would be considered a privilege for somebody like Noctis, and unfortunately, he did not have that privilege.

Before he could continue on—give some words of consolation—he was cut off. “Do you like being my advisor, Specs?” Noctis asks, looking at him directly now, with hardened eyes.

“It can be difficult at times…” He exhales, crossing one leg over the other. “But I thoroughly enjoy it.”

 

_four_

_the first time his lips graced his own_

 

He found him, in his room, feet tucked underneath his arms and tears staining his cheeks. He was trying to muffle the sounds of his cries by biting the inside of his cheek with his teeth. It did not work. Ignis could hear his cries as soon as he opened the front door.

Walking towards him with cautious steps, he sat next to him. The mattress shifted with his weight and Noctis turned around to face him with wide eyes, not realising that he had walked into the room. He couldn’t cover up that he was upset, and and just lowered his eyes to his feet, fiddling with his fingers.

“I, _uh—_ ” his voice cracks. “Did you hear?”

Ignis nods. He did hear. Of course he did. It wasn’t pleasant news; no one would like to be informed that they were to be married for politics. Not only that, but to be told you could not even choose who you were to marry was not something anyone, especially a young man, would want to hear.

“I can’t believe this is happening to me, _and_ Luna. She’s my friend, Ignis. I don’t see her in _that_ way at all. I just—”

Ignis places a firm hand on his shoulder, turning him towards his own frame and looking at him in the eye. “It will be fine, Noctis.” His thumb rubs circles over the Prince’s clothed shoulder in comfort. “Things can still change. When will the wedding take place?”

“In two years.”

“When you are twenty, then.”

In all his years of being an advisor, Ignis had never acted out of impulse. Never. Until today. All he had to do was look into his blue eyes—that used to be so bright and full of life—which were now holding hundreds of untold emotions and pain, and he felt his resolve crumble into tiny, little pieces. He hated seeing Noctis like this...so fragile, and lacking hope. Pulling the Prince into his embrace, he wrapped his arms around his shoulders tightly, not wanting to let go.

He could feel his heartbeat against his chest, rapidly increasing and unsteady. His hands traveled up to the soft, black locks he had always wanted to touch, but never dared to, and lightly caressed the strands between his fingertips. He felt the younger man nuzzle into his neck, and his heartbeat had slowed down just slightly.

“I am sorry, Noct,” he whispers into his ear.

Noctis pulls away from him and looks up into his green eyes, face now confused. The corners of his mouth rise slightly, and he leans in—too close for comfort—inches away from Ignis’ lips. “Don’t be.” Before was able to voice his concern on what he was sure was going to happen, _it happened_.

Noctis pressed his lips onto his own, and his palms cupped Ignis’ face, tracing his thumbs over the line of his jaw; relishing the way his skin felt under his own fingertips.

Graceful hands trailed to the Prince’s chin, tilting his head upwards so he could taste _more_ of him—kiss him deeper. He tasted unbelievably sweet, even sweeter than anything he had concocted before. But he wished he wouldn’t have tasted so sweet, _so much_ like he imagined he would taste. Because a Crownsguard should _not_ be doing this. He was the royal advisor to the Prince; his job was to look over and care after him, and **_not_ ** to litter chaste kisses down his neck and all the way to his collarbone.

 

_five_

_the first time he lied to him_

 

“You alright, Specs?”

 _No_.

He nods at the concerned Prince, avoiding eye contact.

He cannot bear to say it out loud. He saw _it_. Everything. What was going to happen to Noctis. And he _should_ tell him, but he _can’t_. If he tells him—says it out loud—then that makes it real. And he does not want it to be real. It cannot be real, it should not be. But Ignis knows that it is inevitable, as Noctis is a good man...and a good King, just like his father.

Ignis hopes, silently, in the darkness of the night, that it will not happen.

 

_six_

_the first time he said ‘I love you’ without actually saying it_

 

He knew he would awake from his decade long slumber, but he wished he didn’t—that meant that he would soon leave, for eternity.

But he couldn’t think about that, at least not focus on it, as he was finally back, within arms reach. Ignis could finally hear him again, smell him. _He wishes he could see him._ But _hearing_ him, _feeling_ the warmth of his skin is more than enough.

The smell of the salty water beneath the cliffside, and Noctis’ finely tailored suit engulf his senses. He can hear the fire crackling behind him, and the waves softly hitting against the rocky shores. _He loves this sound, and the smell_. It always calmed him, somehow. It felt homely, and warm, and _safe_. Sometimes, it made everything feel normal—as if his dear friend wasn’t going to pass shortly. It made him forget. Only sometimes.

 _“No,”_ Ignis says. “You won’t be going alone, I’ll—”

“No, you’re right.” He can hear Noctis turning towards him, leather shoes slightly scraping against the rocks beneath their feet. “I mean, I wouldn’t have made it all this way without you guys. Why stop now?” He can hear him walking closer to him now, and a warm hand is placed gently on his shoulder. “In the end, I might not have you at my side, but I’ll always have you in my heart.”

_I love you._

Noctis’ hands trail down his arm and make their way to his gloved palms, and intertwines his fingers loosely in his own. Ignis can feel him leaning closer, just like before, and a chaste kiss is placed just underneath his most prominent scar. _“Thanks…”_ Noctis says, lingering, breath fluttering against his cheek. “Thanks for everything, Iggy.”

 

_Outstretching his hand towards the Prince, he met his eyes for the first time. Bright, and blue. They were much more childlike compared to his own green eyes, which were slightly hardened from all the strenuous training and skill-building he had gone through growing up._

_The Prince looked hesitant at first, but he smiled and took Ignis’ hand in both his smaller palms._

_“I’m Noctis,” he said. “What’s your name?”_

_“Ignis Scientia. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Prince Noctis.”_

 

Before he can stop himself, and not that he wanted to, a tear ran down his cheek, and he hears Noctis chuckle slightly, bringing his hand up and wiping away the tear with his thumb. He wishes this moment could last forever. He wishes it was ten years ago, when he had to wake up a grumpy Prince in the tent, or lecture him to eat more of his vegetables.

 **_No._ ** _Thank_ you _for everything, Noct._

 

_seven_

_the first time he said goodbye_

 

When he sat on the throne—his throne—matured and ready, ready to enact his fate and save his people, Ignis was proud. _So, so_ proud. Although Noctis had awoken from his decade-long slumber with a very similar attitude to his younger self, there were things that had changed; he was quieter, much more solemn. His appearance had changed, too, of course. From what he could feel beneath the tips of his fingers, he now had a beard, one that Ignis would have never believed he was capable of growing, and his hair was styled in a more suitable fashion for a thirty-year-old King.

_Noctis had grown up._

Truthfully, Ignis had waited for this day. It was not that he disliked Noctis before, no, quite the contrary—it was just that Ignis had always believed that Noctis could become someone that was fit to rule over his people, and to see that now he had believed in himself, too, made the royal advisor feel a range of things that could not be described with words. 

And Ignis thought that he was part of the reason for that, and that made him happy, but he was even happier knowing that most of it was because of Noctis himself.

But when Ignis walked up to the throne one last time, just feel His Highness’ decaying body and somehow comprehend and accept that he was _really_ gone, he found himself struggling to do just that. He didn’t want to. He couldn’t. The world took away his best friend, his would-have-been lover, _his King_.

It was stupid, he knew that. He knows that if Noctis was here, and he was telling him how he felt, he would shake his head and tell him to snap out of it. But he couldn't help it. He felt as if he had no purpose. Without Noctis, what was there left for him?

Without Noctis...

 _...without Noctis_.

  

_eight_

_the first time he is without him_

 

He has lived for longer than half a century now.

 _It should not have turned out like this_ , he thinks to himself every day. But thinking about it brings back the pain. He supposes he should have moved on by now, but how can he? He knows the others haven’t, either. The Shield is all smiles and laughter with his wife and three children, now making their way into adulthood, and he hasn’t heard from the blonde in a while, either; probably out on some hike again, with his camera and some friends, a companion, too, most likely. But he knows that they still think about him, and everything that happened once they rest for the night. And he _knows_ that they are hurting just like he is.

It has been more than twenty years since the world took Noctis away, and every day, Ignis thinks of the years he spent beside him. The awkward first encounter, scolding him almost constantly for not eating his vegetables, the road trip which turned out to be their last moments together, and all the tiny things that happened in-between.

He _hates_ that he has forgotten what he looks like. He can only remember tiny details, like how his hair was dark and had an almost-sapphire tint, and his bright, blue eyes. And the tiny mole on the right side of his face. He remembers the sound of his voice, the lilt in his tone whenever he talked about the constellations or pastimes. He remembers the words of affection spoken to him, and the saccharine taste of his lips.

He remembers the way it felt to have a hand on his shoulder, his thumb rubbing soothing circles across his soft skin. He remembers the first time he told him he loved him, without actually saying the words. And he remembers the first time he cried for him.

Most of all, he remembers that he didn’t die with him. And that above all else, that he wished he had gone instead.

**Author's Note:**

> In honour of Episode Ignis, which fucking ruined me. _You cried, I cried, **we all** cried._
> 
> **[crossposted on[tumblr](https://liberifatalis.tumblr.com/post/168568675202/firsts-noctis-lucis-caelum-x-ignis-scientia)]**


End file.
